


declarative clause

by queseyo



Series: illunius [3]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Implied Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-04
Updated: 2016-05-04
Packaged: 2018-06-05 11:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6703102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queseyo/pseuds/queseyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She writes her own declaration.</p>
            </blockquote>





	declarative clause

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [my declaration](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5870965) by [iaintinapatientphase](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iaintinapatientphase/pseuds/iaintinapatientphase). 
  * Inspired by [The learned say it is a new creation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6399157) by [gogollescent](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gogollescent/pseuds/gogollescent). 



Their kiss is brittle, a momentary lapse of judgement, biting and scraping at an addiction that never should’ve started. Later, free from his clutches, she’d trade it all for silver coins, pocket them in her purse for future use. For now, she digs deep into his hair, moans _Jefferson_ and thinks _Thomas_. First names are powerful, never spoken. A reminder that what they have is temporary, a caesura in another sloppy, ink-smeared poem.

He’s nothing like Alexander. Alexander is fire, the calm before the storm _and_ the storm itself, non-stop and leaving destruction in his wake. Jefferson is subtle, a raised eyebrow in a dim lit club, a hand on her thigh, fingers pressing into her tights. He asks for consent through his trademark smirk, his lips finding her neck. She lets him have his way, gives him the momentary satisfaction of thinking _he_ can control _her_.

* * *

Her phone buzzes. One unread message from **T. Jefferson:**

_Next week at 9?_

She leaves the message unopened, won’t give him the satisfaction of what they have continue. God forbid it. She turns her phone over, and goes back to her paper. It’s not what she had with Alexander, nothing like the playful flirtation through messages swapped at midnight, the push and pull at dinner parties. Angelica doesn’t wish it any other way, satisfied with the roughness Jefferson and her have, salt on skin and rose perfume in the air under too soft sheets.

Silk, he tells her after their first night. She scoffs.  _Of course_ it’s silk.

* * *

Angelica knows she’s spent too much on this when she begins to daydream. Not the soft, cotton candy ones spun in high school classes, or the ones made up at three am in college dorms. (She’s experienced those more than she can count.) Her fingertips burn, and she longs to drag them across his skin, hear him sing praise to her, promise her gifts that would quench her thirst. Jefferson and her are temporary, she reminds herself, destined to crash and burn before this becomes something of importance.

She doesn’t call it love. It could never be that. She imagines that if she could turn back time, she'd change this, live out this not-so love in a different century. She'd mask it as flirtation between a successful politician and an unsatisfied, married woman.

* * *

The silk sheets start to itch. She complains to him through tugging his hair sharply, pulling his lips up to hers. Again with the biting, the non-stop scratching and push-pull. Pride swells in her chest, sends chills her spine as he hands her the strap-on, begs her to use it on him. (He _begs_ , and she _smirks_ , complies to his wish.)

She’s used to him drawling out her name, velvet and rich like his background implies. This time, it’s short and rings in her ears, the gasp lodging in his throat. She tells him to do it again, runs a hand through his curls as comfort. The cycle continues, they feed each other’s ego. (Angelica plans on winning, whatever this battle is, whatever the cost may be.)

* * *

He publishes _The Declaration_. Critics call it “a masterpiece of freedom”, "a true representation of America's values." Angelica sneers at it, imagines Alexander— _her_ Alexander—picking it apart, examining each clause hoping to find a flaw in it. When Hamilton doesn’t, she tears through Jefferson’s declaration, questions him that _why_ , in the time we live in, do you say all _men_ are created equal? He responds through his actions, that one raised eyebrow so associated with him, the shift in his stance as he closes his book to look down at her.

“Why not?”

* * *

She deletes his text. The one that starts with _the morning you left us, all was wrong_ , is the one that takes up most of the notifications screen. Metaphors and poetry aside, she weans out the half-assed ones. She finds herself laughing—sharp, daggers, bounce off the red walls with no regrets—as she catches the similarities Hamilton and he have. The same _I’m sorry, please forgive me_. Angelica is far from naive, acknowledges that Jefferson is still—and always will be—a politician first, an almost lover second, will always twist his words to bring her back.

She considers deleting his number, finally winning once and for all. New message alerts cause her phone to shake so hard she places it on her desk, watching unamused as the apologies keep coming.  

(She keeps his number, doesn't completely erase the chat.) She knows when to stop, and knows messages like these will be handy in the future.

* * *

She writes her own declaration, leaves him behind with the candlelit nights and the almost romance of rose perfume. Angelica asks herself if this is what satisfaction feels like.

**Author's Note:**

> The message Thomas sends to Angelica is from a letter actually sent on February 17, 1788, when Angelica planned to return to London after staying in Paris. That letter can be found [here.](http://founders.archives.gov/documents/Jefferson/01-12-02-0638)
> 
> That was a mess, but thank you for reading! [tumblr](http://autumni.tumblr.com)


End file.
